


An Exhibition Match

by blithelybonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight times Harry beat Malfoy, and one time he so did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exhibition Match

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the week two Bingo Card of the [Wizarding Games](http://hd-writers.livejournal.com/) challenge on Live Journal. The prompts are bolded. Go Team Lions!

**One.**

Harry let the **Golden Snitch** fly a bit ahead and then caught it before it got too far. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy scowling into his oatmeal. Harry let it fly away again, laughing as it zipped over and hovered near Malfoy’s ear.

“Reflexes a bit off, Ferret?” said Ron, coming up and elbowing Harry playfully.

“Didn’t he miss the Snitch at the trials?” added Seamus, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“He did catch the second attempt though. He’ll still make an exhibition team … as back-up Seeker, perhaps,” Harry said. Malfoy let out a frustrated noise and snapped up his hand, but the Snitch had already zipped back toward Harry, who caught it easily. “There’s no shame in being backup.”

“I will see you on the fucking Pitch, Potty,” Malfoy snapped. Seamus and Ron laughed brightly, but Harry just softly smiled.

**Two.**

The **Cedric Diggory** Memorial Match was a month away, and Harry grinned as he passed the list of exhibition teams. It shouldn’t have been so pleasing to see his name listed as Seeker for Team Badger, with Malfoy listed just underneath as back-up, but he couldn’t really help himself.

He did manage to keep from lording it over Malfoy too much though -- at least until Malfoy brought it up.

“I still can’t believe I’m your bloody alternate.”

Harry gave his best approximation of Malfoy’s usual smirk. “Actually, didn’t it say ‘back-up’?” he asked.

Grumbling, Malfoy tossed himself into an armchair by the fireplace. “Now I don’t even get to play unless your skinny arse gets injured,” he whinged.

“Try not to hope for it too much,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes, as he sat down on the couch and took out his playbook and began to strategize.

**Three.**

**”Wizarding chess** is great for strategy,” Harry said, concentrating. Then, “Knight to H5!” Harry’s Knight easily took out Malfoy’s Queen. 

“I thought you were supposed to be rubbish at this, Potter!” Malfoy exclaimed, leaning back in his chair.

Harry laughed. Malfoy was too predictable. “I’ve been practicing. You know what they say.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Malfoy muttered. He then shoved out at the table, scattering the pieces all over the board.

Harry just laughed again. “Don’t be such a sore loser, Malfoy!”

“Oh, just sod right the hell off,” Malfoy replied, before reaching out and pocketing Harry’s Knight. “I’m keeping this.” He then got up off the couch and headed out of the common room.

“See you on the Pitch,” Harry called after him, amused.

“Go to hell,” Malfoy returned in the same sing-song tone.

Harry rolled his eyes and began putting the pieces back into the box.

**Four.**

When the rumor arose that a scout for the **Falmouth Falcons** would be at the exhibition match, Harry tried not to watch Malfoy. But he’d always had rather a hard time ignoring the blond prat, so it was pretty difficult not to watch Malfoy sulking.

“To be fair,” Harry said, taking a seat next to Malfoy on the couch, “it’s not like the Falcons are any good. Didn’t they give the Cannons a run for their money in awfulness last year?”

“Don’t speak ill of the Cannons, Potter,” Malfoy replied, tone flat. “And it doesn’t matter … a professional scout is a professional scout, no matter which team.”

Harry cocked his head. “You want to play professional Quidditch?” he asked.

“I don’t know … might be nice to have the option,” said Malfoy, eyes focused ahead. “Like you obviously do.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that.

**Five.**

Harry found Malfoy sitting alone in a small balcony near **Ravenclaw** Tower, looking up at the stars, and sat down on the bench next to him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so … well, you know,” he said, quietly.

Malfoy just shrugged and continued searching the skies.

Harry looked up as well, scanning the darkness. Astronomy had never been his strongest subject, if only because it bored the hell out of him. Plus, he didn’t like to spend more time than necessary hanging about the Astronomy Tower. But Ravenclaw Tower, he supposed, wasn’t so bad.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, glancing over at Malfoy.

“Draco,” he answered simply, shrugging.

“Isn’t that only visible at 9 P.M.?”

Malfoy exhaled sharply. “No, that’s just when it’s _best visible_ , but you just know everything, don’t you, Potter?”

Malfoy got up and left, and Harry frowned gently, disturbed.

**Six.**

“Malfoy, wait up!” Harry called, as Malfoy nearly disappeared through the portrait-hole into the eighth year common area. He smiled as Malfoy stopped and turned around. “I’ve got some news.”

“What is it?” Malfoy asked, warily. He folded his arms across his chest defensively and leaned back against the wall.

“Fontaine said he doesn’t want to play anymore. So you’re in at **Chaser** if you want to be,” Harry replied, grinning.

“I don’t Chase, Potter. I’m a Seeker.” Malfoy turned quickly and began to climb through again.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “It’s a shot, though. The scouts, they’ll see how you can fly … come on, Malfoy, I’m really trying here,” he said, following Malfoy through the entrance.

Malfoy stopped short on the other side, and Harry bumped into him. Then, Malfoy turned his head, an unreadable expression on his face. “I appreciate the effort,” he said softly.

**Seven.**

They sat together on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing a game of **Quidditch** with Conjured hoops and a Quaffle of balled-up parchment, and it wasn’t even the slightest bit weird … which Harry supposed was probably weird in itself. 

“Two Knuts says I’ll win,” Harry said, flicking the parchment-Quaffle towards Malfoy’s hoops.

“Why are you so obsessed with beating me, Potter?” Malfoy asked, as he flicked the Quaffle back.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “It’s normal, isn’t it? You and I … this stupid rivalry?”

Malfoy looked contemplative. “I suppose it is,” he agreed. “But you know, I sort of like thi--”

“Kick his arse, Harry!” said Ron, as he barged into the common room and sat down. “Then I’ve got next.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, who bit down on his lip to hide a smile. “Will do, Ron,” he said, eyes never leaving Malfoy’s.

**Eight.**

“I will bet you my entire **Chocolate Frog Collection** ,” Harry said, confidently.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but smirked back. “Only if you autograph one of yours for me,” he replied. “Not, of course, that you’re right.”

Harry laughed and walked over to turn up the wireless. And when the announcer shouted that Gudgeon had made a spectacular dive only to catch a firefly, he turned to Malfoy and grinned. “The Cannons are never going to disappoint me by actually winning a game.”

Malfoy sneered, but his lips twitched, as if he was fighting back a laugh. “They’ll find their way back to the top one day, Potter!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“From your lips, Malfoy ...” said Ron, dejectedly.

“So what do I get for winning?” Harry then asked, extending a hand.

Malfoy just looked at him a moment. “I’ll think of something,” he said.

**Nine.**

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat, as the tight, wet heat of Malfoy’s mouth engulfed him. “Fuck, Malfoy,” he groaned, hand fisting in Malfoy’s hair.

Malfoy continued to bob his head, hollowing his cheeks and grinning up when he reached the head.

“Malfoy, we … we’re going to miss the **match** ,” he said, as the tingling beneath his skin grew. He was so close.

“Are _we_?” Malfoy whispered and traced the length of Harry’s cock with his tongue.

Harry stilled and then came hard with a low moan. Breathless, he tried quickly to come back to himself.

“Well, I think I won this one, Harry,” said Malfoy, as he got to his feet, ran his thumb along his lips and sucked it into his mouth. He glanced briefly over his shoulder, smiling as he left.

Reluctant as he was to admit it, Harry had to concede.


End file.
